


the worst ever

by wheelspokes



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, No Explicit Sexual Content, Pining, Some Humor, atsumu gets sexiled a lot, endgame sakuatsu, randomized roommates, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:22:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25762828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheelspokes/pseuds/wheelspokes
Summary: Kiyoomi regrets randomizing his college roommate in an attempt to show Motoya that the average person is not as horrible to live with as his cousin is when Atsumu proves himself to be the worst roommate ever.Atsumu is a terrible roommate. Kiyoomi shouldn't feel guilty when he sexiles him.(He does.)
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 56
Kudos: 897
Collections: ~SakuAtsu~





	the worst ever

**Author's Note:**

> An expanded version of a story I wrote in the SASS discord. 
> 
> There's only implied sexual content and nothing very explicit, but as there are multiple different instances, I ended up rating it M instead of T. Mind the tags. 
> 
> Their dorm is based off American universities, but the academic calendar is based off Japanese universities.
> 
> I tried to include Atsumu's Kansai-ben, and if there are any inconsistencies, it's because that is what felt most natural to me while writing.

“You are the absolute worst roommate I could ever have,” Kiyoomi says as he looks Motoya dead in the eyes and submits his housing application. 

A year ago, Kiyoomi and Motoya managed to get into the same university. It felt natural to plan on attending the same university; Kiyoomi and Motoya had stuck together from elementary school to high school. There had been no doubt in Kiyoomi’s mind as he filled out the dorm application by his cousin’s side. 

Motoya is the best friend he has, the only cousin he likes, the only other person who could perfectly execute all of Kiyoomi’s hygiene rituals, the person who knew all of his secrets even though Kiyoomi didn’t actually tell him most of them, and the lint roller to his pocket handkerchief.

Komori Motoya is also the worst roommate to ever exist. 

Komori Motoya is, quite unfortunately, _Kiyoomi’s_ roommate.

Which is why Kiyoomi finds himself here: hoisting his laptop above his head and using the precious height he has over Motoya to his advantage as he finishes next year’s housing application.

“Kiyoomi,” Motoya grimaces, “you don’t have to do this.”

“You’ll find that I do, in fact, have to do this.”

“The application isn’t due for another week. If this because I walked in on you that one time, I’ve knocked before entering ever since. We can talk this through.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Kiyoomi says with a sneer. “You leave crumbs all over our room. We have had cockroaches in our room on three separate occasions, and Hoshiumi said he won’t help us out if it happens again. We’re lucky enough to have a sink in our dorm and you make a mess there. We share a bathroom with Hirugami and Hoshiumi, and they actually wipe everything down afterwards, unlike you, even though you’re my literal cousin.”

“Hoshiumi uses an obscene amount of Axe,” Motoya mutters, like that’s supposed to do anything to help his argument. It doesn’t. 

“What’s the point of knowing how I disinfect things if you don’t actually clean up after yourself?”

“I’ll do better next year, I promise. My mom will kill me when she finds out I’m not going to be rooming with you in our second year of university.” 

His cousin is practically begging now. Motoya is no longer reaching for his laptop, instead slowly lowering himself to the ground to pathetically bow in a last ditch effort to convince him to be roommates for another year. He’s kneeling in his own damn chip crumbs. 

“Besides, what if the randomized roommate is worse than me?”

At this Kiyoomi smiles. He’s been told multiple times that his smile is what greets people when they enter the gates of hell. Motoya’s rapidly paling face confirms that Kiyoomi is the devil incarnate. He lowers his laptop and shows the confirmation screen to Motoya to rub it in further.

“I’m certain the average human being will be considerate enough to follow my cleaning routine, Motoya. But you’re welcome to come and visit my randomized roommate next year, because I’ve just hit submit and paid the application fee. I’ll invite you to take notes on how to be a proper roommate.”

Their window is still open in a futile attempt to ventilate their room to get rid of the clouds of Axe body spray emerging from their shared bathroom. For once, Kiyoomi thinks he might understand why Hoshiumi douses himself in it; Kiyoomi relishes in his cousin’s look of utter despair and thinks he can smell victory.

...

Maybe Kiyoomi shouldn’t have been mean towards Motoya. Maybe he shouldn’t have insulted Hoshiumi’s height and excessive Axe usage. Maybe he shouldn’t have shoved a lint roller in Hirugami’s face after he came back from a weekend trip back home with dog fur all over his jacket. 

Maybe Kiyoomi should have listened to Wakatoshi’s friend who talked about omnipresent gods and karma, because life spits in Kiyoomi’s face and curb stomps him before Kiyoomi can even think about taking a shower.

Three months later, Miya fucking Atsumu waltzes into Kiyoomi’s dorm and introduces himself as Kiyoomi’s new roommate. 

“It’s real nice to meet ya, Omi-kun,” is all Miya needs to say before Kiyoomi walks past him to go scream in the hallway.

...

Komori Motoya is not the absolute worst roommate on Earth. Motoya must be the second-worst roommate ever, because Miya Atsumu somehow manages to claim the title of World’s Biggest Asshole at the same time he gets crowned The Absolute Worst Roommate. 

Miya calls him Omi-kun or Omi-omi no matter how many times Kiyoomi asks him to stop. When Kiyoomi asks where the nickname comes from, Miya says he’s as prickly as a sea urchin. The nickname never disappears and Kiyoomi reluctantly accepts his fate of being called Omi-kun when Atsumu proposes Too Blunt Jerk as an alternative.

Their sink countertop isn’t all that large to begin with, and it is absolutely swamped with skin care products. Whereas Kiyoomi’s side of the countertop consists of neatly stacked jars and the acrylic organizer Iizuna bought him in last year’s Itachiyama alumni Secret Santa, Miya’s facial products are scattered haphazardly around his half of the counter. Kiyoomi has seen his roommate knock his tube of hair gel into the sink while brushing his teeth on multiple occasions. 

They have single beds so neither of them are forced to sleep in a bunk bed, which should theoretically make life a lot easier since they’re both over six feet tall and whoever took the top bunk would inevitably hit their head against the ceiling every day. 

But this is reality, and in reality, Miya somehow manages to break the sound barrier when he gets out of bed in the mornings. Kiyoomi doesn’t even need an alarm clock anymore because Miya is so damn loud. 

Kiyoomi politely leaves him half of the space in the shoe organizer that hangs on the door and even offers Miya a pair of slippers when they first meet, but Miya romps around their room in his sneakers and only wears sandals when he showers. 

He doesn’t have a laundry hamper. Miya stuffs all of his dirty laundry back into his wardrobe and carries it in a plastic shopping bag to the laundry room when he’s run out of clean clothes. 

There are four volleyballs that run rampant through their room. Kiyoomi trips on them every day. The one day he doesn’t, Kiyoomi nearly slips and face plants on the ground because Miya managed to find enough time to blow up balloons for Akagi’s birthday. 

Akagi, and his roommate Suna, doesn’t even live in their building. 

They share a bathroom with Bokuto and Hinata, and while Kiyoomi can’t even look at the duo without feeling exhausted, Miya goes to their room constantly and forgets to close the door behind him. Hearing the three volleyball idiots shriek does not help Kiyoomi study for physics. 

The only saving grace is how Bokuto and Hinata diligently wipe down every surface in their shared bathroom, and even that is only a small mercy when they start calling him Omi too. 

Miya is a walking germ who washes his hands with soap for only five seconds and then wipes his hands dry on his pants. 

And yet, with all of these already horrible qualities, what takes the cake is Miya being friends with Motoya. 

Kiyoomi comes back from a two hour lecture to find Motoya showing Miya and Suna his baby photos. Kiyoomi hasn’t even shown his baby photos to Wakatoshi because his parents gave him the clothes his older sisters once wore. 

There are puddles on the sink counter despite how every inch of the countertop is covered with steps to someone’s skin care routine. Motoya is sitting on Miya’s desk as he digs into a bag of chips; Kiyoomi can already see the crumbs and the inevitable cockroaches. Suna is in Miya’s chair, lazily tipping the chair back so far that Kiyoomi wonders how he hasn’t fallen. Miya, the menace himself, is sprawled on the ground tossing one of his volleyballs. 

“Motoya, you were right,” Kiyoomi snarls. His cousin lights up at being told he’s correct, even if he doesn’t know why he’s being complimented. “You’re not the worst roommate ever, because that honor belongs to Miya.”

Motoya drops his bag of chips in shock. Suna catches it, and then nearly topples to the ground before Miya sits up and shoots a hand out to help him regain balance. The volleyball Miya was just tossing bounces away, losing momentum just in time for it to halt in front of Kiyoomi’s feet.

Miya’s face is flushed with embarrassment, and the way his jaw drops and his eyes bug out makes Kiyoomi flash him a smug smirk. 

Kiyoomi sweeps two textbooks into his backpack, and when Motoya and Suna’s cackles escort him out, he basks in his victory that thankfully doesn’t reek of Axe. 

...

Kiyoomi has heard of Miya Atsumu before he waltzed into their dorm. Their majors are completely unrelated and they’ve never had any classes together, but Miya is on the university’s volleyball team with Motoya and Wakatoshi. He’s heard snippets about the setter from his friends and if he thinks hard enough, Kiyoomi vaguely remembers the Miya twins from the high school volleyball circuit. 

But regardless of his relation to volleyball, Kiyoomi has heard the rumors. The whole campus has heard the rumors. 

Miya Atsumu flirts with anyone and everyone in his sight. Miya Atsumu has an ego so large that it’s a miracle he manages to carve a space for himself within the bustle of Tokyo. Miya Atsumu will run his mouth no matter what you do. Miya Atsumu is incapable of telling a good joke. Miya Atsumu’s pretty face is not worth his horrible personality; go find his twin brother instead. 

The jury is still out on the rumor of Miya having a grand total of two friends, but there’s one rumor that Kiyoomi knows for a fact isn’t true. 

Miya Atsumu, contrary to popular belief, does not spend each night with a different person. He’s never even brought anyone to spend the night in their dorm. 

In fact, most nights Miya tucks himself into bed before Kiyoomi even thinks of leaving his desk, and then pesters Kiyoomi with questions until he falls asleep. When Kiyoomi doesn’t answer him, Miya decides to respond to his own questions. 

Miya’s favorite food is chutoro. His parents still haven’t told him who the older twin, but Miya has a sinking feeling it isn’t him. His high school cafeteria sold really good yakisoba bread but the few times he managed to buy the elusive item, he split it with his brother. He misses someone named Aran because no one else responds to his jokes. Miya has had his heart set on attending university in Tokyo ever since he got lost before a volleyball tournament and took in the city’s sheer size and impressive density with wide eyes. 

“You’re the only one who would think that,” Kiyoomi grumbles. 

Kiyoomi has only left Tokyo for school trips and the one time he had a family reunion in Sendai. His admiration for the city has simmered away into a quiet acceptance of spending his whole life here long ago. 

“Yer the one who didn’t grow up in Hyogo with a twin brother,” Miya says, voice tinged with exhaustion and weariness. Kiyoomi doesn’t press him even though he potentially wants to for the first time since Miya walked through the door with two suitcases and a too-big smile. 

(He had called Motoya as soon as he was in the hallway. Motoya laughed at him for two full minutes before admitting that Miya was one of his closest friends on the volleyball team.

“Don’t trust all the rumors, and be kind to him. Atsumu’s fucking ego can’t handle your bluntness, Kiyo.”) 

It is, strangely enough, Kiyoomi who sexiles his roommate. 

In Kiyoomi’s first year of junior high, back when he was slowly dedicating himself to volleyball and practicing until he could spin gold with his luck, he had met Wakatoshi. 

Kiyoomi has wrists that can bend far enough to make Motoya gag in disgust, wrists capable of putting a nasty spin on every volleyball he spiked when he still played, but back then in junior high, it was Wakatoshi who was stronger. The loss had only propelled Kiyoomi further into the depths of volleyball and the urge to finish what he started.

Motoya still makes fun of him for falling in love with someone for using a pocket handkerchief, but Kiyoomi has found a million other reasons to love Wakatoshi since then. Wakatoshi is kind, careful, stable, and as of nine months ago after a lunch date following their shared calculus final, Wakatoshi is his boyfriend. 

One of the newer things he learns and loves about his boyfriend is how unfazed he is as they try to secure some alone time. Wakatoshi shares an apartment far enough from campus that he needs to take the bus, so Kiyoomi often invites him over to his dorm. It’s easier to kick out Miya than it is to make Oohira, Kawanishi, and Shirabu leave them alone in Wakatoshi’s apartment.

Miya always agrees to give them the room anyways, offering bad jokes, flirting with them both, and talking to Wakatoshi about volleyball practice as he packs his bag and heads somewhere else. 

“Enjoy yourselves! Use protection! Text me when I’m cleared to come back. Don’t be late to practice tomorrow morning!” Miya says cheerfully before slamming the door behind him.

Kiyoomi turns to Wakatoshi to tell him to ignore his roommate, but then Wakatoshi is leaning in and Kiyoomi can’t think of anything but him. 

...

Halfway through June, Miya becomes Atsumu. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t call him by his given name out loud. But after having met Miya Osamu when he drops by to see Suna, it’s simply easier to differentiate the Miya twins by using their names. 

It doesn’t have anything to do with how Atsumu always washes his hands for twenty seconds upon returning to their dorm and even buys a new bottle of the right brand when Kiyoomi forgets to buy more. 

It doesn’t have anything to do with how Atsumu asks for his opinion when purchasing slippers for himself and potential guests. It doesn’t have anything to do with how Atsumu actually starts using his share of their hanging shoe organizer. 

It doesn’t have anything to do with how Atsumu now slips out of bed quietly enough that Kiyoomi was late to a lecture because he unknowingly became dependent on his human alarm clock. 

It doesn’t have anything to do with how Atsumu places a second Amazon purchase for a laundry hamper and a makeup organizer for his half of the sink countertop. 

It doesn’t have anything to do with how Atsumu helps Kiyoomi vacuum their floor every Sunday morning. It doesn’t have anything to do with how Atsumu keeps the volleyballs stored under his desk. 

It doesn’t have anything to do with how Atsumu invites Motoya over to help him compile a list of Kiyoomi’s cleaning routines and preferences, which he then laminates and sticks on their bathroom wall so Bokuto and Hinata can see it too. It doesn’t have anything to do with how Atsumu even asks Hirugami and Hoshiumi for any extra notes to add to the list. It doesn’t have anything to do with how Atsumu makes it a competition with Bokuto and Hinata to earn Kiyoomi’s approval when they clean the bathroom.

It doesn’t have anything to do with Atsumu leaving their room as soon as Kiyoomi enters with Wakatoshi for the third time that week. It doesn’t have anything to do with how Atsumu starts giving Kiyoomi extra stories about Wakatoshi when Atsumu is drifting off to sleep instead of talking about himself. It doesn’t have anything to do with how Atsumu eats dinner with Kiyoomi once a week and wears a mask for the trip to the canteen.

It doesn’t have anything to do with how Atsumu, once thought to be the worst roommate Kiyoomi could ask for, gradually adapts to Kyoomi’s routines without noticing it himself. 

Except it _does_ have everything to do with how Atsumu tries his hardest to not disturb the routines Kiyoomi lives by, and Kiyoomi has no idea what to think of that. And if he’s being honest, he’s scared to think about how Atsumu has changed for him. 

...

What doesn’t change is Atsumu’s habit of talking to Kiyoomi until he falls asleep. Perhaps Kiyoomi changes as well, because he’s grown fond of Atsumu’s late night rambling. 

When Kiyoomi asks why Atsumu does it, Suna and Osamu both corroborate Atsumu’s claim that talking before bed is the only way he falls asleep. Suna says it’s why he didn’t room with Atsumu for a second year; Kiyoomi is morbidly impressed by how the talking is the deal breaker rather than Atsumu’s previous living habits. 

Kiyoomi starts to respond to Atsumu’s questions around the same time Atsumu begins wearing slippers in their dorm. The timing may also coincide with a linear algebra midterm that he doesn’t want to study for, but considering Kiyoomi only misses one question out of 30, no harm is done if he goes along with Atsumu’s own ritual of talking until sleep drags him under. 

Atsumu’s Kansai-ben thickens when he’s drowsy, and it’s terribly hilarious to hear his roommate slowly stumble over a story until all Kiyoomi can hear are soft snores. 

_It’s also very endearing_ , his mind whispers. 

Kiyoomi immediately banishes the thought and instead thinks of how good Wakatoshi looked in his workout clothes when they went on a date after his volleyball practice ended. 

Except then he remembers how Atsumu, who had attended the same rigorous training as Wakatoshi, willingly left their dorm when Kiyoomi returned with Wakatoshi at his side without being asked to and how Atsumu’s appalling jokes are now accompanied by stiff smiles and cold eyes. 

He’s sexiled his roommate so many times that he’s surprised Atsumu hasn’t exploded at him yet. Guilt has steadily pooled in his stomach ever since the first time he asked Atsumu to leave, and what was once a small puddle has slowly evolved into an Olympic-sized swimming pool. 

“Why’d ya quit volleyball?”

Atsumu’s question catches Kiyoomi off guard. His roommate crawled under his covers over five minutes ago, but it’s only now that Atsumu begins his nightly conversation. 

Kiyoomi silently whispers an apology to the English essay he’s writing before twisting his torso to catch a glimpse of Atsumu. Atsumu’s hair is somehow already disheveled, and although his skin is glowing with the successful results of his skin care regimen, the bags under his eyes can only be beaten by Kiyoomi’s own eye bags. 

Actually, Bokuto’s boyfriend who comes over every other weekend could probably win the whole competition, but that’s not really something to be proud of. 

Atsumu’s expectant stare reminds Kiyoomi he hasn’t answered the question yet. He’s been expecting this question ever since Atsumu squinted at his old Itachiyama jacket and recalled where he heard the name Sakusa Kiyoomi before.

“I finish things to the end,” Kiyoomy finally says after taking another minute to think, “and for me, high school was the end of volleyball. My priorities changed when I entered college, and I found that I just wanted to focus on astrophysics.”

“I don’t think I could ever live without playin’ volleyball,” Atsumu says with a small laugh. 

“It’s your only redeeming feature, Miya.”

He’s returned to his essay at this point, but Kiyoomi can hear Atsumu’s smile in his words. “Yer so generous Omi-kun. I thought I had no good points, so I’ll take even one.”

Kiyoomi catches himself smiling too. The smile doesn’t fade even as he adds five new sentences to his essay while waiting for Atsumu to continue talking. 

“Do ya ever regret it?” 

“I still play sometimes. It would be hard to fully escape it considering I’m dating Wakatoshi and how Motoya’s my cousin. But I don’t regret not playing competitively anymore. I’m very lucky to have met so many people and to have my particular skill set, but my luck extends to things outside of volleyball too.”

Atsumu’s questions are short tonight. It’s also unusual for Kiyoomi to be saying so much to Atsumu without exploding in anger. Atsumu chooses to continue to forge into uncertainty. 

“Why’d ya choose to major in astrophysics?”

“I like it. It’s much more than just something to finish until the end, because there isn’t an end when there’s so much to research and learn. There’s something amazing about space, and I want to know how everything works.” 

Kiyoomi decides to ask a question of his own, one he should have asked the first day they met. “Why are you majoring in communications?”

Atsumu goes silent as he formulates a reply. Kiyoomi has long given up on his essay, and he lessens the guilt of not being productive by reminding himself he has four more days. He’s written four paragraphs already, and that’s been without his usual can of Pringles at his elbow as a reward for finishing paragraphs.

“I wanna go pro. I got a few Division II team offers after high school. Hell, I still get offers to quit the university team and join ‘em. I could’ve played with one of ‘em for a while and then gone to a Division I team.” 

This in of itself doesn’t surprise Kiyoomi; he had received his own fair share of volleyball offers. Motoya, who has always dreamed of pursuing volleyball for a living, received even more before he decided to attend college first.

“But even if volleyball is the only constant in my life, what do I do when I retire? Samu goes to a culinary school and he’s already sellin’ onigiri outta his damn kitchen. I don’t wanna crash and burn. I don’t wanna be left behind.”

The only light source in their room currently flicked on is Kiyoomi’s desk lamp. The bulb has an impossibly warm tint that casts a light the same shade of revolting yellow as Atsumu’s ugly hair. 

The light shines on Atsumu dimly, but not even the canyon of distance between Kiyoomi’s desk and Atsumu’s desk stops the light from illuminating Atsumu’s face in a way that can only be described as beautiful. 

Once, Atsumu sent Motoya a picture of Kiyoomi in the same light. His cousin called him a zombie and then set it as his contact picture. It’s incredibly unfair for Atsumu to be blessed by the lighting while Motoya still makes fun of Kiyoomi for the horrendous yellow lighting and has threatened to post it on his social media timeline for his birthday if he doesn’t give his cousin his Pringles stash. 

“Picking a major was less important than choosin’ to go to college at all. I guess I chose communications to improve my setting and to help connect with people better, but also so I can stay with a career related to volleyball even after retiring from it.”

Atsumu is surprisingly vulnerable and honest in his answers. Maybe it’s because it’s currently a quarter to one in the morning and he has volleyball practice in the morning. Maybe it’s just Atsumu putting his communications major to work and always knowing how to match the mood of a room. 

Maybe, just maybe, it’s Atsumu wanting to crack himself open and lay himself bare in front of Kiyoomi. 

“Don’t think too hard or you’ll overwork the only brain cell you have,” Kiyoomi manages to choke out before it’s too late for him to say anything. “Go to sleep.”

“G’night Omi-Omi,” Atsumu whispers. 

Atsumu’s soft breathing as he drifts to sleep can’t be heard over the sound of Kiyoomi’s rapidly beating heart. 

Kiyoomi is completely, totally, utterly fucked. 

...

Atsumu is his roommate. He has no feelings that extend past the realm of friendship for Atsumu. He is in love with Wakatoshi and has been for the past eight years. Wakatoshi is his boyfriend. Wakatoshi is everything Atsumu is not and everything Atsumu will never be.

These words linger in his mouth. No matter how hard he brushes his teeth or how many times he swigs mouthwash, the taste of ash remains on the tip of his tongue. 

It’s unexpectedly easy to lie to himself. 

His one year anniversary with Wakatoshi passes by at the end of July. They go to dinner at the small family restaurant that serves the best hayashi rice in the city, and the owners don’t stare at Kiyoomi as he wipes down the table and their seats. 

When they both gift each other pocket handkerchiefs as anniversary presents, Kiyoomi laughs until he feels tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. The smile Wakatoshi gives him is utterly dazzling and Kiyoomi _must_ be in love with his boyfriend if his chest feels this warm and full. 

Motoya senses there’s something wrong with Kiyoomi when they meet up for their weekly lunch.

“Is your relationship with Wakatoshi okay?” Motoya asks. 

There is a new pocket handkerchief in the front pocket of his jeans. The purple crisscross pattern isn’t one that Kiyoomi would pick out for himself, but now that he owns it, he’s become attached to it. 

“We’ve never been better,” Kiyoomi says. 

He almost believes his own words when Motoya shrugs and changes the subject. 

...

Miya Atsumu never brings people to stay the night in their dorm. 

This is a truth Kiyoomi keeps to himself, a secret he tucks into the corner of his mind and accesses when people pity him for having their campus’s infamous playboy as a roommate. 

Atsumu doesn’t bring people over until one day, he does. 

Atsumu’s birthday falls on a Wednesday in the first week of the new semester. Kiyoomi goes out with him, Motoya, and Suna to a ramen shop Akagi recommends.

“I’ll make it up to ya on Saturday,” Akagi says as an apology for not being able to make it to their small celebration. 

Kiyoomi, blissfully naive Kiyoomi, assumes eating ramen and buying mismatched slices of cake from the convenience store will be the end of Atsumu’s birthday extravaganza. Suna spends the whole night sulking over not being with his boyfriend for his birthday and constantly reminds Atsumu of this to watch him squawk. 

When Atsumu calls his twin brother back in the privacy of their dorm, Kiyoomi slips Osamu the story of how Bokuto and Hinata covered their floor with balloons only for Atsumu to trip and fall into the splits as soon as he gets out of bed. 

Atsumu, under normal circumstances, cannot do the splits. 

“We recorded it for you,” Kiyoomi says. “I just sent it to you on Line. Happy birthday Osamu-san.”

He shouldn’t be surprised when Atsumu tells him he’ll be spending all of Saturday out of their dorm for round two of his birthday celebration, but apparently Kiyoomi isn’t as smart as his perfect GPA suggests, because he doesn’t expect Atsumu to party more. He underestimates Atsumu’s impressive dramatics. 

Suna posts every moment of their day on Snapchat. Most of his videos are of Osamu. The others give Kiyoomi enough glimpses of Atsumu’s life to realize it’s a gathering of their former high school volleyball team. Kiyoomi spends the day finishing his homework and studying for next week’s physics quiz. 

So when Atsumu returns to their dorm with Kita Shinsuke in tow, Kiyoomi drops his phone in shock. 

“Is it okay for Kita-san to stay over tonight? He’ll take my bed and I’ll be sleepin’ on the floor if that’s alright with ya, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says. “And if it’s not okay, then ya might want to recall how I get sexiled twice a week by ya and how yer boyfriend has stayed over before.”

Atsumu has a point, damn it. Who is Kiyoomi to stop his guest from staying over when Atsumu always leaves him and Wakatoshi alone? 

Why does Kiyoomi care so much in the first place?

“It’s fine. Give him a pair of slippers.” 

Everything feels so wrong. Atsumu should not be bringing someone over, even if his guest politely toes off his shoes and accepts the slippers without batting an eye. Atsumu and Kita make their way to the sink to wash their hands and Kiyoomi counts them scrubbing their hands for 27 seconds before rinsing off the soap suds. 

“It’s nice to meet ya, Sakusa-san,” Kita says as he starts to extend a freshly-washed hand out for a handshake. Atsumu subtly taps his shoulder to remind him Kiyoomi doesn’t like to touch others, and Kita quickly withdraws his hand and gives Kiyoomi a small wave as an alternative. 

“I’m Kita Shinsuke. Unfortunately there aren’t any trains back to Hyogo this late, so thank ya a lot for allowin’ me to stay over tonight.”

“There are no issues with having you over, Kita-san. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Except there are many issues with Kita Shinsuke’s presence in their dorm. 

For one, Kita is unfairly attractive. 

He doesn’t play volleyball anymore, but his well-defined muscles will later be explained by his job as a rice farmer. His silver and black hair is reminiscent of Bokuto’s hair color, but it suits him and frames his face nicely. His eyes are incredibly soft and kind as he listens to Atsumu describe a project he just finished, and the sheer emotion on Kita’s face only increases when he chastises Atsumu for not taking care of himself. 

Secondly, Atsumu and Kita are getting along in all the ways Kiyoomi wishes for. 

Atsumu will tell a bad joke and Kita will follow up with a line that’s even more absurd. When Atsumu shows even the slightest hint of self-imploding, Kita stares into his soul and Atsumu switches to a new topic.

Kita can handle how Atsumu isn’t a functioning human being without getting irrationally angry like Kiyoomi. This thought alone makes Kiyoomi irrationally angry, which makes him think it may have something to do with him and not Atsumu. 

Third, Atsumu does not let anyone sit on his bed when they come over. 

No one would dare to sit on Kiyoomi’s bed without permission, but Atsumu has pushed Bokuto off his bed and forced him to go get his chair from next door if he didn’t want to sit on the floor. Motoya and Suna have never sat on his bed. Osamu could only sit with Atsumu on his bed after reminding him about all of the pudding cups he’s stolen from Osamu.

Kita is not only sitting on Atsumu’s bed, but Atsumu has said Kita will be sleeping in his bed for the night. 

But the largest problem Kiyoomi finds himself faced with is this:

Atsumu stops recounting a memory from his second year of high school to snap his fingers and point at Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi, who had been watching Atsumu and Kita, out of the corner of his eye, flinches at the motion. 

“Omi-kun is Ushijima’s boyfriend,” Atsumu says with a self-satisfied grin, clearly proud of himself for recalling this piece of information. “Do ya still keep in touch with Ushijima, Kita-san?”

All of the lies Kiyoomi has carefully constructed are falling apart. He doesn’t pay attention to what Kita says in response to Atsumu’s question, too preoccupied with what Atsumu just said. 

_Ushijima’s boyfriend_. 

When Kiyoomi entered university, when he was in high school and even middle school, that was all he wanted to be. That’s what, up until one minute ago, Kiyoomi still thought he wanted to be.

The coveted title used to taste sweet, like grains of sugar on the tip of his tongue each time Kiyoomi introduced himself to one of Wakatoshi’s friends. 

But now, as Kiyoomi continues to replay how “Ushijima’s boyfriend” sounded like coming out of Atsumu’s mouth, all he can taste is bitterness as he feels his gut twist. 

“So I’ve been told ya have a crush on someone. Who is it?” 

Kiyoomi snaps himself out of his thoughts in time to hear Kita ask this. He wishes he didn’t.

Instead, Kiyoomi gets to watch Atsumu’s face flush in embarrassment as he stutters out something incoherent. Kita must understand whatever Atsumu just said, because he’s ruffling Atsumu’s hair until the both of them are laughing.

“Stop gossippin’ with Samu and Suna ‘bout me anyways,” Atsumu says with a pout, and all of a sudden Kiyoomi is consumed with the urge to smooth out his frown until Atsumu is back to his usual bright smile. 

Kita digs around his backpack and hands Atsumu a pudding cup. It is one of the nicer, more expensive brands of pudding cups, which Kiyoomi has learned from Atsumu and Osamu.

Atsumu lights up at the sight of the dessert, which shouldn’t even be possible because he’s been over the moon ever since he walked in with Kita. He’s been beaming the whole night, and now he’s shining even brighter because of a single pudding cup. 

Kiyoomi cannot continue to watch this. Their obvious displays of affection and the resulting confusing swirl of emotions he feels cannot be good for his health, and he needs to survive until his damned physics quiz and preferably long after that.

It’s clear who Atsumu likes. It’s painfully clear that the winner of Atsumu’s affections is Kita Shinsuke. 

Kiyoomi is Ushijima’s boyfriend. He’s _Wakatoshi’s_ boyfriend.

“I’m leaving,” he announces suddenly. “I’m heading over to Wakatoshi’s apartment, and I’ll stay there for the night.”

Atsumu stops drooling over his pudding to look at Kiyoomi with narrowed eyes. It’s the first time he’s looked at Kiyoomi the whole night. “Omi-omi, since when have ya stayed over at his place?”

“Since tonight. I don’t want to be a bother to you two.” Kiyoomi’s tone probably comes off as rude right now, but he doesn’t care. He sends a text to Wakatoshi and starts packing a bag before he even gets a confirmation. 

His wallet. A pair of pajamas. A clean set of clothes for tomorrow. A sweater if it’s chilly outside. His toothbrush and travel-sized toothpaste that he’s never needed until now. His hair brush. He manages to squeeze his bottle of mouthwash into his backpack, but he’ll have to settle for not bringing his skin care products. Maybe he can steal from Shirabu’s extensive collection. A new mask. 

It’ll be the first night he breaks his routine. Yet, as Kiyoomi catches a glimpse of Atsumu’s concerned face in their mirror, he realizes he’s already broken his routine. 

For someone who fell in love with Wakatoshi at first sight, Kiyoomi falls in love with everything else slowly. 

His love for space is built from documentaries his parents made him watch as a kid and the stargazing trips with his older sisters in attempts to scout potential date spots. The field trip to an observatory in his second year of junior high only cemented his love. 

Somehow, over the course of seven months and without Kiyoomi realizing, Kiyoomi has fallen out of love with Wakatoshi and now harbors something complicated towards Atsumu. He can’t put a name on his emotions, and the frustration burns. 

Atsumu is the worst roommate in the world, and he’s proven this once again tonight because Kiyoomi is not supposed to be jealous of Kita. 

Kiyoomi is not supposed to not be in love with Wakatoshi. 

Kiyoomi prioritizes his routines. He has a ten step skin care routine for the morning and a different ten step skin care routine for nighttime. There is a laminated copy of his cleaning routine hanging in the bathroom they share with Bokuto and Hinata. Kiyoomi has a specific path to all of his classes and even a set way of walking through the canteen.

Since when did loving Wakatoshi turn into another routine?

Wakatoshi is kind, dependable, comforting, and stable. Wakatoshi is safe, and Kiyoomi has loved him so much and for so long he didn’t even realize he has stopped loving him. 

Wakatoshi is Kiyoomi’s boyfriend. Wakatoshi has confirmed that Kiyoomi can stay the night at his apartment.

“Ya aren’t a bother to us, there’s no need to leave,” Atsumu says, and the confusion and hurt on his face is something Kiyoomi has put there. 

_I really do need to leave_ , he screams in his head. _I can’t handle watching you and Kita when I think I might like you, you asshole._

“It was nice meeting you, Kita-san. I’ll be back tomorrow morning Miya,” Kiyoomi says, tossing his room key into his backpack and shoving his phone into his pocket. “Goodbye.”

Kiyoomi slams the door behind him before sprinting down the stairwell, forgetting to shrug on the sweater he packed as he continues to run towards the bus stop. 

...

Kiyoomi is self-aware enough to feel guilty when he sleeps with Wakatoshi. He is self-aware enough to know he shouldn’t be taking advantage of him like this. He still feels something towards Wakatoshi, but he can’t decipher exactly what it is. 

But Kiyoomi still does it and helps his boyfriend make his roommates pancakes in the morning. At least they’re good pancakes; Kawanishi even asks for the recipe. 

Kiyoomi returns to his dorm at noon wearing the scarf Oohira lent him to cover the bruises on his neck. No one on the bus seems to care about his interesting fashion choice that doesn’t quite match the weather. One girl flashes him a thumbs up. 

“Welcome back.” Atsumu greets him with a frigid smile and a cool gaze that could freeze over the hellscape Kiyoomi currently lives in. “I finished vacuuming already even though I thought ya were gonna come back earlier. I didn’t wanna ruin yer Sunday cleanin’ routine.”

“Thank you,” Kiyoomi says quietly. He can feel Atsumu’s eyes on him when he removes the scarf and tosses his dirty clothes into his laundry hamper. soft

Some vindictive, petty part of him makes him ask, “Has your boyfriend left yet?”

He’s facing Atsumu when he asks this, and as Atsumu sighs and drags a hand through his hair, Kiyoomi sees how tired his roommate looks.

“Aran’s boyfriend,” Atsumu says. “Kita-san is dating Aran. Aran and Oomimi couldn’t make it this weekend though. Kita-san left to the train station with Samu and Gin this mornin’.”

Oh. 

Kiyoomi isn’t quite sure what to do with this information. He definitely doesn’t know what to do with what he thinks might be relief flooding his body. 

Atsumu sighs again. “I haven’t wiped down the counter yet, and Bokkun and Shouyou-kun wanted to wait until ya returned to deep clean the bathroom. Can ya help us?”

As he’s scrubbing the toilet, Kiyoomi makes a mental note to talk to Wakatoshi.

...

One week later, Kiyoomi slides into the chair across from Wakatoshi at the cafe located across the street from the edge of their campus. He barely managed to focus on studying for yesterday’s physics quiz because he was trying to figure out what to tell Wakatoshi.

He still doesn’t have an answer. 

Wakatoshi stirs his hot chocolate three times before looking directly into Kiyoomi’s eyes. 

“We should break up.”

Kiyoomi drops the travel lid to his reusable coffee cup in surprise. Out of all the scenarios he’s created in his head in the past week, he hasn’t considered Wakatoshi breaking up with him first. 

Wakatoshi dips his head in an apology. “I’m sorry if this is out of the blue but—”

“No!” 

Wakatoshi is caught off guard by Kiyoomi’s protest. Kiyoomi clears his throat, snaps the bands of his mask, and mourns how he has to drink all of his coffee in the shop now that he’s dropped his lid and made it dirty. Then he speaks. 

“I mean that I actually wanted to break it off today too.”

The crooked grin Wakatoshi gives him is gentle and reassuring even though they’ve just agreed to end their relationship. 

“Kiyoomi, you’re an important friend to me, and I have enjoyed our time together immensely. But I think our romantic relationship has run its course. ”

Kiyoomi finds himself nodding in agreement. Wakatoshi continues with his breakup speech, and Kiyoomi appreciates how much thought he’s put into it. Other people may wonder how long he’s wanted to break up for if it’s this meticulously crafted; Kiyoomi is simply thankful.

“I have only recently realized that I don’t feel the same as when we first started dating, and I don’t think I can continue what we have. I’ve found that I’m not as happy as I once was.

“We have been together for over a year, and I am grateful for the memories I formed with you. However, while I still have feelings for you, they are feelings of friendship. I’d like to continue meeting up as friends, but that’s all I think we should be.” 

Wakatoshi finishes his speech with a final twist of his stir stick. The comfortable silence that used to accompany them on dates returns as Kiyoomi revises his thoughts.

“Wakatoshi-kun, I fell in love with you as soon as I met you,” he starts. “And I kept loving you. I finally got the courage to ask you out and you agreed. I loved you so much that I couldn’t realize I am no longer in love with you in that way. 

“When I finally figured it out, I asked to meet you here, because you deserve someone who loves you whole-heartedly. We dated for a long time, but we’ve been friends for an even longer period of time. I hope we can continue to be good friends as you truly are someone important to me, and I don’t want to lose that friendship.”

Wakatoshi politely gives him a round of applause when he ends his small speech. Wakatoshi is kind, careful, stable, and not what Kiyoomi wants in a boyfriend currently. The relief that washes over him sweeps in from his toes, the wave slowly ebbing throughout him and calming the beating of his heart. 

It also reminds him of something he should say.

“I feel guilty for sexiling Miya so much.”

They both look at each other and laugh over Atsumu’s misfortune. Any lingering tension dissipates, and Kiyoomi thinks they’re going to be more than fine going back to being just friends. 

“He put up with us a lot, even if he didn’t need to leave so much. I should send him a gift basket as thanks.”

Kiyoomi finds himself cracking up at how earnest Wakatoshi sounds. Wakatoshi’s sense of humor was something he loved. Motoyaonce told him Wakatoshi’s humor was an acquired taste because Motoya didn’t understand his jokes, but Kiyoomi has always had an awful sense of humor anyways. 

“I really did love you,” Kiyoomi admits. His grip on his coffee cup tightens. 

Wakatoshi awards him with his smile yet again. “I loved you too. I wouldn’t have started this if I didn’t.”

They both apologize for the last night they spent together, and when they find out they were both in the wrong, it turns into a contest of who can say sorry the most. It gets resolved when they pay for each other's drinks and laugh over their stupidity. 

They plan out the logistics of their next lunch together, this time as friends instead of lovers. Kiyoomi’s chest feels a little empty, but nothing hurts. And from the way Wakatoshi looks at ease, he figures Wakatoshi is also feeling well. 

He’s glad. 

Their final date finishes after an hour. Wakatoshi stands up to leave, and Kiyoomi rises in order to give him a hug. If Wakatoshi notices how Kiyoomi is touching him without gloves or how their embrace lasts longer than any previous hug has, he doesn’t comment on it. 

Before Wakatoshi walks away from their table, Kiyoomi is struck by a thought.

“By the way, did someone help you draft that speech?”

Wakatoshi nods. “Oohira looked it over. He was very helpful and patient.”

Kiyoomi smiles. Once upon a time, his smile was reserved for only Wakatoshi, and maybe Motoya if his cousin wasn’t preoccupied with pissing him off. He thinks he knows someone else he wants to share his smiles with. “It was a very nice speech. I liked it. Please send my regards to Oohira.”

Wakatoshi has a lovely smile. It’s one of things he loved about Wakatoshi. It’s still something he’s fond of, because he’s learned you can love your friends too. 

“I will. Goodbye Kiyoomi.”

“Goodbye Wakatoshi-kun. Thank you for everything.”

He means it. Wakatoshi waves one last time, and then he’s out of the coffeeshop and walking towards the bus stop. Kiyoomi watches him leave and all he can feel is joy at how light his heart is. 

It takes him another ten minutes to finally finish his coffee, and when he leaves, Kiyoomi finds himself looking forward to seeing Atsumu again.

...

“Ushijima hasn’t come over in a while.”

It takes Atsumu until the start of November to bring up Wakatoshi’s absence. Kiyoomi notices Atsumu enjoying studying at his desk at any time without being sexiled, and his eyes shine in excitement over his new freedom when Kiyoomi tells him Wakatoshi won’t be coming over.

Kiyoomi hasn’t told Atsumu about his breakup yet. It’s hard to approach the topic considering Atsumu was part of the reason why Kiyoomi realized he no longer loved Wakatoshi. 

Atsumu finally asks for the current state of their relationship in a rare instance where they both go to bed at the same time. The overhead light is already shut off, and they’re both buried under their blankets waiting for sleep to claim them. 

Bokuto and Hinata must be watching a horror movie next door, because Atsumu’s faint murmurs are punctuated by occasional screams. Kiyoomi thinks he might even hear Bokuto crying. 

Atsumu follows his own routine of talking himself to sleep, and Kiyoomi participates in the conversation to help Atsumu fall asleep faster. He claims it as his own routine now and marvels at how Kiyoomi was pulled into Atsumu’s orbit without realizing. 

“I haven’t been kicked out ever since the new semester started. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that I don’t get sexiled twice a week. I’m really enjoyin’ studying at my own desk. But Omi-kun, are ya okay? Did somethin’ happen between you two?”

Their dorm’s floor plan has an awful layout because Atsumu’s twin extra-large bed is placed right in front of his own and their headboards face each other. 

When Kiyoomi stops staring at his toes and looks up to see Atsumu’s silhouette crawling out from under his blankets to sit up, he’s almost tempted to slip out of bed himself to go flick the light back on. 

He stays in bed. It’ll be easier to tell Atsumu about his breakup in the darkness where he doesn’t have to watch his roommate feign concern and empathy. 

“I’m not dating Wakatoshi-kun anymore,” Kiyoomi says. It only takes him nearly three weeks to finally tell Atsumu this. “We ended things a while ago.”

“You guys broke up?” Atsumu yelps. 

Kiyoomi hears a soft thud, which he guesses is the sound of the fox plushie Motoya and Suna got him for his birthday roll off his bed. It could also be either Bokuto or Hinata passing out because he just heard two loud shrieks. The room is too dark for Kiyoomi to know for sure. 

“Tell yer friend that sooner, Omi! Ya were datin’ him for a long time! Don’t bottle everythin’ up! Ya can talk to me about anythin’ if ya want, I’m great at keepin’ secrets.”

Kiyoomi really cannot talk to him about this in detail. Atsumu has also told him a few details about Suna that Kiyoomi is pretty sure he was never meant to know, so he’s not confident about Atsumu’s ability as a secret keeper.

This isn’t a secret though. This is Kiyoomi trying to figure out why he feels like combusting when Atsumu wipes down their sink and flashes Kiyoomi a smirk like he isn’t the one who has adapted to Kiyoomi’s routines. 

“It’s not sad,” he scoffs, and it’s only now that Kiyoomi realizes this is true. Wakatoshi is still one of his closest friends. “Our breakup was mutual. His roommate helped him look over his breakup speech and everything. It’s actually a little funny, but also a kind gesture for him to help Wakatoshi-kun with that.” 

“Ushijima asked his _roommate_ to help him write a _breakup speech_?” 

Atsumu is starting to sound like a parrot, screeching and all. Kiyoomi tries to shoot him an annoyed look, briefly forgetting that they can barely see each other’s vague outlines. 

“That’s what I just said, Miya. For someone majoring in communications, you sure can’t listen to anything I say.”

Kiyoomi cannot see his roommate, but he’s absolutely positive that Atsumu is now pouting. 

“That’s still pretty rough Omi-omi. Ya deserve better.”

“Don’t make fun of Oohira-san helping him with the speech. What’s wrong with that? I know you helped Motoya ask out Washio, because he made me read over his drafts. It was a good speech; don’t be jealous of someone for having more potential as a communications major than you.” 

Kiyoomi pauses. “Besides, I think it’s Wakatoshi-kun who deserves better than me.”

“Don’t say that,” Atsumu says sharply, catching Kiyoomi off guard with how angry he sounds. 

The mystery behind the thump from earlier is explained as Atsumu slides off his bed to retrieve his fallen stuffed animal using his phone’s flashlight. Atsumu’s lips are pressed into a frown, and his eyebrows are furrowed. He very carefully avoids looking at Kiyoomi, but Kiyoomi can see the barely concealed irritation. 

“Don’t sell yourself short Omi-kun. Date someone who can write a speech by themselves. Better yet, date someone ya won’t break up with.” 

“Introduce me to someone like that then,” Kiyoomi says with a snort. 

He didn’t expect telling Atsumu to be this messy. This is worse than his actual breakup with Wakatoshi. Motoya had taken it in stride and even bought Kiyoomi a jar of umeboshi after their weekly dinner together. 

Atsumu is more upset than Kiyoomi is for some reason. Kiyoomi doesn’t think too hard about it. He still doesn’t have the mental or emotional strength to analyze how he feels about his roommate.

“Goodnight Miya.” Kiyoomi decides to just cut off all thinking and to try to fall asleep.

Atsumu doesn’t respond.

Just as Kiyoomi feels the gentle hold of sleep begin to cradle him, he hears Atsumu mutter something.

“I wouldn’t break up with ya.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes snap open. 

He shoots up and learns forward with what’s likely a crazed expression, but it’s no use. Atsumu’s soft snores and the muffled screaming from their neighbors watching their horror movie fill their tiny living space. 

“What the fuck,” Kiyoomi whispers. The only answer he gets is the sound of Atsumu shifting in his sleep.

_I wouldn’t break up with ya. I wouldn’t break up with ya._

This is scarier than any horror movie, scarier than watching any movie at all with Bokuto and Hinata threatening to latch onto him. 

There are no lingering traces of exhaustion, and Kiyoomi is helpless as he replays Atsumu’s words. The mere possibility of sleep eludes him. 

He’s delusional. There’s no way Atsumu thinks Kiyoomi is anything more than a stuck up roommate. Atsumu has a crush on someone like Kita, even if Kita already has a boyfriend. Atsumu wouldn’t break up with Kiyoomi because they’d never date in the first place.

Kiyoomi sleeps for a meager three hours that night. 

He dreams of someone with a bad dye job who speaks in Kansai-ben. When he looks at the man, he is bursting to the brim with love. When the man looks at him, Kiyoomi knows how loved he is in return. 

In his dream, they never break up. 

...

Atsumu apologizes for his rude behavior the next morning. 

“It’s fine, Miya,” Kiyoomi snaps, because he hasn’t lost sleep over a single sentence just to have Atsumu mope around hours before a volleyball match. “If you really want to apologize, buy me dinner tomorrow.” 

“But we usually eat dinner together on Wednesday nights? I thought Sundays were for Ushijima—” 

“Wakatoshi-kun and I only get lunch on Thursdays together now. My Sunday nights are free.”

Atsumu looks relieved that he didn’t manage to completely put his foot in his mouth. He takes another second to think. “Does that mean we’re gonna start eating dinner together twice a week? Or are you only offerin’ to go tomorrow to make me pay?”

“It’s whatever you want.” A small part of Kiyoomi hopes Atsumu will want to eat together twice a week. 

He’s folding his blanket to avoid the inevitable rejection when Atsumu makes a choking sound. But when Kiyoomi turns around to face Atsumu, Atsumu is beaming.

Atsumu is, for lack of a better word, radiant. 

Kiyoomi has noticed Atsumu’s unfairly straight teeth before, but right now, that perfect smile is directed at him. Kiyoomi thinks he’ll need glasses if he sees this sight ever again, because Atsumu’s smile is blinding. Atsumu has recently switched his hairstyle into what Kiyoomi can only compare to Iizuna’s hair from high school, but it makes him look hot until he opens his mouth and ruins his handsome face.

And fuck, Atsumu’s face looks really handsome right now. 

It’s been obvious since the first day Kiyoomi met him that Atsumu is attractive. Yet Kiyoomi finds himself short circuiting right now as Atsumu looks at Kiyoomi like he’s just handed him all of the expensive pudding cups in the world. 

Kiyoomi wishes he could take a picture of this sight so he can use it as his home screen. It’d be worth it, even if Motoya would never let him live it down. 

“Omi-kun doesn’t hate me!” Atsumu squeals, jumping up and down in some strange victory dance and not acting like he’s twenty years old. “I’m ‘bout to have dinner with ya twice a week! Maybe we’ll eat together even more in the future!”

“All you have to do is ask if you want to eat together.” Kiyoomi isn’t facing him anymore, too embarrassed by how pink his cheeks must be. If he had known he was going to be flustered over Miya Atsumu, he would have set the precedent of wearing masks inside their dorm to avoid ever getting found out. 

“Just go get ready for your game. Good luck.”

Atsumu laughs, and Kiyoomi’s heart churns at how endearing the sound is.

“Well if Omi-kun tells me good luck, then I have to win this game.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

When Atsumu is about to leave, he whirls around in their doorway to give Kiyoomi a thumbs up. 

“After I win this game, I’m askin’ ya out to lunch on Friday,” Atsumu promises. His brown eyes are always burning with confidence, but Kiyoomi thinks that right now, flames of hope are dancing through his eyes. 

“I’ll be waiting then.”

...

Atsumu wins the game. He buys Kiyoomi dinner on Sunday. They go to the canteen together on Wednesday night and Atsumu holds every door they pass through open for Kiyoomi. On Friday, Atsumu buys ingredients and pulls out a small rice cooker to make onigiri with the umeboshi Motoya bought. 

The cycle repeats the following week, and then the week after that. It becomes routine.

Sometimes Motoya, Suna, or both of them join. Atsumu wrangles Bokuto and Hinata into cooking with them in the dorm building’s tiny kitchen one Friday. When Aran visits for dinner after his university volleyball team plays a match against Atsumu’s team, Kiyoomi finds himself roped into an eating competition against Aran and Akagi. 

Kiyoomi loses the competition.The twins make him another batch of umeboshi onigiri as an apology, so it’s not a total loss in the end. 

This may be routine, but Kiyoomi cannot predict what happens each time he and Atsumu go out to eat. For the first time in his life, Kiyoomi finds himself welcoming the uncertainty.

When Kiyoomi meets up with Wakatoshi for lunch, he shares his lessons in self-growth and stories about the latest dumb thing Atsumu or Motoya have dragged him into. 

Wakatoshi talks about his friend Tendou who is studying bakery and pastry arts, and Kiyoomi squints at the picture Wakatoshi shows him in shock when he realizes one of his roommates is Osamu. Their final roommate, someone named Fukunaga with short hair and eyebrows that look like Komori’s, rounds out the trio of culinary school students. 

“Tendou makes better pancakes than you,” Wakatoshi says, and he’s so serious that it sounds like an apology. Kiyoomi almost chokes on his water. “I think I might have feelings for him. I want to ask him out when I visit him next weekend.”

“Please send me his recipe. And congratulations, Wakatoshi-kun, I wish you the best of luck.”

Wakatoshi gives him a wry smile. “Good luck with Atsumu as well, Kiyoomi.” 

Kiyoomi is many things. Subtle is not one of them. 

He thanks Wakatoshi regardless and pretends he isn’t internally panicking at the realization that everyone knows he might like his roommate. 

Motoya is genuinely confused when Kiyoomi goes to him for help. “Wait, you were trying to be subtle with how you totally want to date Atsumu? Because Kiyoomi, man, everyone knows.”

Kiyoomi kicks his cousin out of his dorm. When Atsumu returns and asks why Motoya is moping outside of their dorm, Kiyoomi doesn’t give him a reply. 

...

The housing application for next year opens two weeks after winter break ends. Kiyoomi does not welcome the new source of stress. 

Motoya and Suna will be applying for the dorms again together. Bokuto is asking a friend to room with him and Hinata is studying abroad next year. Hoshiumi and Hirugami from his first year have messaged him if he’s interested in looking at apartments with them. He has classmates who are also looking for roommates.

But there’s only one roommate that Kiyoomi wants. There’s only one person he trusts enough to live with again. 

The last routine of his that Atsumu adopts is his laundry schedule. 

They do their laundry on Sunday mornings and vacuum the floor while waiting for their clothes to finish washing. By the time they return the vacuum to the dorm’s front desk, their washing machine cycles have ended. Their dorm’s laundry room also features dryers, which Kiyoomi is thankful for because their dorm room has no space for a drying rack. If he uses enough detergent, he doesn’t think about who else has used the washing machines before and where their clothes have been. 

“Omi-kun, no one ‘cept ya wakes up at seven in the mornin’ on Sunday,” Atsumu always complains as they make their way to the laundry room.

Kiyoomi just blinks and points out, “You woke up at the same time I did because you like how empty the laundry room is.”

When their bed sheets and clothes are washed and dried, Atsumu cues up his playlist that exclusively features Kesha, Lady Gaga, and Ariana Grande as they fold their laundry. 

In the beginning, Atsumu would attempt to sing along to the songs and then miss all of the notes. Kiyoomi got annoyed enough to dare Atsumu to sing one of those songs perfectly if he wanted to keep doing it again.

Their dorm floor still wonders who played “One Last Time” so loudly that the whole building was woken up, and to this day, people still ask Kiyoomi if he knows who sang the cover of the song because they’re impressed by the singer’s sheer range. 

No one believes him when he says Miya Atsumu was the one to sing the song flawlessly despite his low voice. Kiyoomi is burdened with the knowledge of Atsumu actually being able to sing, and he may or may not stare at Atsumu in awe and horror as he happily butchers every note during karaoke. 

Now, Atsumu lowers the volume of his speaker and chatters away while Kiyoomi provides occasional comments like a more coherent version of their nightly conversations. 

Atsumu has just finished describing his latest volleyball match when Kiyoomi finally broaches the subject of housing. 

“Miya, where are you living next year?” 

“Uhh, the dorms?” Atsumu looks at Kiyoomi like he’s lost a few brain cells. Kiyoomi is sure he has after being around Atsumu for so long. 

“Ushijima is one of five people on the team to live in an apartment, and his place is closer to the gym than the dorm building he was in before. My sports scholarship covers tuition so I can afford the school housing, and the dorms aren’t so bad once yer used to it.”

“I already knew that, I meant to ask who are you living with next year?”

Atsumu rolls his eyes as he folds another shirt. “Say what ya mean the first time then. No need to be so pushy Omi-kun, I’ll be outta yer hair in two and a half months. I was thinkin’ of randomizing again, or maybe talkin’ to some people on the team.”

Kiyoomi almost wants to stop this mess before it happens. But then he thinks once more about how they’re folding laundry together and how Atsumu insisted on being the one to check out the vacuum earlier so Kiyoomi wouldn’t have to come into contact with its germs before they wiped it down. 

“You’re incredibly dense,” he sneers. 

Atsumu yelps at the insult; he’s too dramatic to let anything slide. Kiyoomi just wants to make his offer, get a rejection, and then start searching for a roommate. 

“I meant to ask if you want to room together again next year, Atsumu, but I guess you have different plans.”

He finishes folding his last two pairs of pants and begins to walk to his closet to put his clothes away when he realizes how silent their room is. The Kesha song that was just playing a few seconds ago has been shut off. Atsumu’s hand is still hovering over the speaker.

Kiyoomi has surprised Atsumu a few times before. But right now, Atsumu’s jaw is on the ground, and his bugged out eyes and yellow hair make him look like a goldfish. 

“Ya called me Atsumu,” he whispers gleefully. “Omi-omi, ya just called me _Atsumu_.”

This is not an answer. “Do you want to be roommates again or not, Miya?”

Atsumu throws a pair of socks at Kiyoomi. The socks separate halfway through their trip, fluttering limply to the ground as Kiyoomi dodges them. 

“Are ya kidding me?” Atsumu wails. “Of course I wanna be yer roommate again! I thought ya hated me so I didn’t want to ask ya, but you’re a surprisingly great roommate regardless of the rumors ‘bout ya.”

Kiyoomi tilts his head in confusion. “Wait. There are rumors about me?”

Atsumu waves his hand dismissively. “They’re not nearly as bad as mine, don’t worry over ‘em. But _shit_ Omi, there’s no way ya can take that back. I’m filling’ out that form today and I’m puttin’ yer name on there even if I have to steal your student ID card from ya.”

Kiyoomi wants to learn more about the rumors Atsumu brought up, but for now, he’ll settle for just getting a confirmation.

“There’s no need to steal my ID card if we just apply at the same time. Besides, it’d be easier to room with you again than to teach someone new about my cleaning routines, Miya.”

Atsumu picks up his socks and waves them in front of Kiyoomi’s face as a threat. “Don’t call me Miya now, or ever again. Ya can keep saying Atsumu.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

Kiyoomi is laughing now. Atsumu’s eyes are still bulging out. He looks cute. Slightly terrifying, but cute. 

“If I wash my hands and change into new clothes,” Atsumu wheezes, and for a moment Kiyoomi thinks he’s actually choking, “will ya let me hug you?”

He takes in the freshly washed sheets, the folded laundry stacked on top of the sheets, the vacuumed floor, and the warm smile on Atsumu’s face. 

There’s no reason he can think of to say no. Atsumu senses his hesitancy and heads over to their sink, counting to twenty out loud as he lathers his hands with soap. 

“Omi-kun, trust me.”

Atsumu never gives Kiyoomi a reason to not trust him. Kiyoomi has always been jealous of how Atsumu can touch people so freely without recoiling in fear. 

Atsumu and Motoya have an elaborate secret handshake they only do in front of Kiyoomi. Atsumu elbows Suna whenever a new embarrassing story of his high school self is shared. Atsumu and Bokuto sprint at each other from opposite ends of the hallway for chest bumps. Hinata gets his hair ruffled. He hugs and high fives his teammates. 

Kiyoomi once walked into their room to find Atsumu sobbing into Akagi’s chest over the closure of his favorite bakery back in Hyogo. Atsumu launches himself at Osamu in a violent display of brotherly love. Aran, the one time he visited, was forced to give Atsumu a piggyback ride because he latched onto Aran and didn’t want to let “his only friend with good humor” go. 

He tried to shake Kiyoomi’s hand on the day he moved in. Atsumu hasn’t tried to touch Kiyoomi since. Even when he was still a total slob, Atsumu had respected Kiyoomi’s personal space.

Perhaps Kiyoomi isn’t jealous of how Atsumu touches others without any issues; he’s envious of being excluded. 

He wants the hug. Kiyoomi, for some unknown reason, wants Miya Atsumu to hug him.

Well, he knows the reason, even if he won’t admit it to himself. 

Atsumu watches Kiyoomi debate whether or not he wants the hug with a look of amusement. He waggles his hands to try to convince Kiyoomi of accepting physical interaction. 

Kiyoomi shakily nods. “Change into clean clothes. I’m wearing a mask and gloves.”

“I’ll be careful,” Atsumu promises. He always is. 

He slips a maroon shirt off its hanger and takes the pair of jeans on the top of his stack of folded pants. Kiyoomi turns around to give Atsumu privacy as he changes, rummaging through his drawers to pull out a pair of gloves. 

The mask he wore to the laundry room this morning sits innocently on his desk. Kiyoomi snatches it up and loops the elastic bands around his ears. He can already feel his face burning in embarrassment, and when he takes a quick peek at the mirror hanging on the wall above his desk, pink is dusted all over his face.

Atsumu clears his throat to get Kiyoomi’s attention. Kiyoomi opens their curtain to let the sun trickle in and slowly spins around, eyes trained on the university logo emblazoned across the front of Atsumu’s shirt. It takes all the effort Kiyoomi can muster to look up at Atsumu’s face, and the way Atsumu’s eyes pierce through Kiyoomi’s soul almost makes him want to walk right past Atsumu and scream in their hallway again.

“We’re not gettin’ any younger,” Atsumu teases. 

“Miya, shut up.”

How does he initiate this hug? Kiyoomi hadn’t thought about hugging Wakatoshi; he had just stood up and done it to thank his friend. But Atsumu is watching him expectantly right now and all Kiyoomi can do is think. 

Kiyoomi awkwardly sticks his arms out to the side. Atsumu immediately cackles at how ridiculous he looks and only stops when Kiyoomi scowls at him.

“We don’t have to do this,” Kiyoomi says as he starts lowering his arms. 

“We really do need to do this,” Atsumu disagrees. 

Atsumu surges forward before Kiyoomi’s arms can fall any lower, cautiously placing his arms over Kiyoomi’s hoodie and avoiding any exposed skin. His head is angled strangely to avoid touching any of Kiyoomi’s face, but Kiyoomi uses a gloved finger to press Atsumu’s face forward into the side of Kiyoomi’s face so his cheek grazes the mask and his mop of curly hair. 

They’re hugging. 

Kiyoomi can count the number of people he’s hugged before on one hand. One of his sisters at age seven when she stopped watching her television show so Kiyoomi could watch a documentary on black holes. His mother when he was crying over a failed test at twelve years old. Motoya a handful of times over the years. Wakatoshi during their relationship.

Atsumu now in their...whatever they have together. 

They stay like this in silence, hands furiously grasping onto each other and refusing to let go. The heavy silence from before dissolves into the air. It makes Kiyoomi wish they hugged it out earlier. 

“I didn’t actually think you'd want to stay with me, ‘cause ya still call me the worst roommate ever. But ya have to like me at least a little bit if yer askin’ me to live with ya again,” Atsumu says quietly as he rests his chin on Kiyoomi’s shoulder. 

“You grew on me,” Kiyoomi concedes. 

“Told ya you’d love me eventually. Guess it just took a long time, huh?”

Kiyoomi’s grip on Atsumu’s shirt tightens. He hopes he’s not stretching the material out. “Yeah. But you’re still the worst roommate I could ever have.”

Atsumu pulls out of the hug to flip Kiyoomi off. “Ushijima came over twice a week. I got sexiled twice a week. I think ya were worse than I was.”

“Would now be a good time to say that most times we just sat on my bed and watched movies so you didn’t need to always leave?”

“The time to tell me that would have been while ya were still dating him!” 

Kiyoomi chuckles at how distraught Atsumu is. Atsumu’s eyes crinkle as he steps forward, arms open once more if Kiyoomi can handle another hug. 

He accepts the offer before he can overthink the possibilities for contamination. Atsumu had changed into clean clothes at his request, and Kiyoomi watched him scrub his hands furiously under the faucet before that.

Kiyoomi loves space. It’s vast and infinite and _beautiful_. There is always something new to be learned. The simple fact of the sun being a star had amazed him for weeks when he was five years old. His father had bought him a 1000 piece puzzle of the Milky Way when he turned ten, and it took him and Motoya two weeks of neglecting their homework to finish it. It’s still hanging in his bedroom. He gives a speech about meteors and pity to Iizuna in his second year of high school and if he reuses that speech occasionally, no one has to know. 

He’s majoring in astrophysics, and while other people pretend to gag at the sight of his physics notebook completely covered with complex equations, Kiyoomi loves learning the meaning behind everything, loves everything about his classes. He attends Astronomy Club meetings twice a month and has spent the past year researching JAXA internships. His sisters have found a new site to go stargazing at, and they find it just for Kiyoomi this time. 

Kiyoomi has unexpectedly grand dreams. It’s what space, in all of its splendor, deserves. It is the first thing that makes him want to break routine, to adapt and change until he feels up to the task of properly loving space. 

Right now, Kiyoomi is grounded by Atsumu’s arms. He should be feeling restless, but instead, Kiyoomi just feels safe. For the first time in his life, he welcomes being tethered to the Earth’s surface. 

Wakatoshi had been the safe choice. Kiyoomi easily added him into his life by simply lining up their schedules, and it had been even easier to love him. Neither Wakatoshi nor Kiyoomi changed for one another. Their lives intersected before running parallel once more. 

Atsumu—wild, dramatic, annoying, supportive, insecure, caring, friendly Atsumu—makes Kiyoomi want to be better. He makes Kiyoomi feel okay, makes him feel loved, makes him feel safe, makes him feel like he’s capable of finishing everything with a smile. 

Atsumu has seen how Kiyoomi operates, has observed his routines and adapted to them, has encouraged him to step out of his comfort zone even if it’s as simple as inviting Bokuto and Hinata to dinner. Atsumu doesn’t pity him, not for his mysophobia or for anything else. Being with Atsumu makes him feel good. 

Kiyoomi finally accepts that he loves Atsumu. 

Loving Atsumu will not be easy, and it hasn’t been easy, but he desperately wants to try building something with him. 

Kiyoomi has never wanted something more. 

Atsumu has changed so much for Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi wants to change for him too. 

“You are the absolute worst roommate ever,” Kiyoomi says, “because I never imagined that I’d feel like this. I thought my luck covered only volleyball and academics, but I’m also lucky because I requested a randomized roommate and I got you. I’ve never been the best at communicating, but you make me want to try. 

“Atsumu, I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Atsumu’s grip around Kiyoomi’s waist falls slack. 

Fear seizes his heart, and for a moment, Kiyoomi thinks he’s just misinterpreted everything that has happened since move-in day. The confidence he shrugged on earlier in an effort to imitate Atsumu’s bravery falls off, and Kiyoomi is left desperately clutching onto the warmth of the person he likes as a black hole gnaws at his heart. 

“Yer an idiot if ya don’t think I feel the same way,” Atsumu says, and then his arms are tightening around Kiyoomi as he presses closer to him. “Samu, Suna, and Motoya have been givin’ me shit about liking ya since July. And then Kita-san came to visit and guessed it right away.”

“Is that why you always looked so mad when Wakatoshi-kun came to visit?”

Atsumu winces. “Yeah, but recently after practice he keeps talkin’ to me ‘bout you and listing restaurants that ya liked. He gave me a pancake recipe two days ago. I guess now I know why.”

Wakatoshi, that traitor. 

Atsumu releases Kiyoomi as he takes a step back. Before Kiyoomi can mourn the loss of Atsumu’s arms around his waist, Atsumu is threading his fingers through Kiyoomi’s. The nitrile gloves make the sensation a little strange, but the thin barrier does nothing to diminish the reassuring weight of Atsumu’s hand in his. 

“But Omi-kun, I really do like ya. I wasn’t gonna confess before we moved out, so I don’t have a speech or anythin’. Yer a too-blunt jerk, but you’ll talk to me for hours about meteorites and pity. Ya listen to me even when all I do is complain about Samu. Yer nice when it counts and occasionally funny, and yer moles are so cute and that’s _not fair_.”

“I feel like you just insulted me.”

“That’s ‘cause I did,” he responds cheekily. 

Atsumu gazes into Kiyoomi’s eyes. 

The first time Kiyoomi thought Atsumu was nothing short of ethereal had been months ago when the rays of his oversaturated lightbulb fanned across Atsumu’s face. Kiyoomi has noted how handsome he looks too many times to count since then, but right now the sunlight streams into their room and catches on Atsumu’s brown eyes to make them shine.

Kiyoomi thinks what truly isn’t fair is how nice Atsumu’s smile is. Atsumu has fondness written into every crevice of his face as he stares at Kiyoomi, their hands interlocked and bound together in what feels like fate. 

He can feel his own face soften as Atsumu beams at him with the intensity and brilliance of a star. Atsumu’s smile alone is the reason why people cannot look directly at the sun. 

“And there’s a lot I could say, Kiyoomi, but I just really like ya,” Atsumu finishes. 

He squeezes Kiyoomi’s palm. 

“Kiyoomi, do ya want to be my boyfriend?”

Kiyoomi squeezes back and frees one hand briefly to unhook one band of his mask and lets it dangle from one ear. He gives him a smile that he hopes is even marginally as dazzling as Atsumu’s. Judging by his whine, Kiyoomi is at least partially successful. 

“I eat together with you more than anyone else. In the past week alone, we had lunch together twice and dinner three times.”

“One of those lunches was with Bokkun and Shouyou-kun, and we had dinner with Komori yesterday.”

“We’re practically already dating, we might as well make it official.”

Atsumu lets out an exasperated sigh. The galaxies sparkling in his eyes betray his feigned annoyance. “Ya could have just said yes like a normal person.”

“What about us is normal?”

Atsumu hums in consideration. They’re still holding hands, one of them occasionally sending a pulse that the other will return. Kiyoomi doesn’t have any intention of letting go any time soon. 

He squeezes Atsumu’s hand once more, and it just about feels like a love letter. It is an amalgamation of things he said and feelings he can’t put into words, of everything Atsumu means to him. Atsumu mails his own declaration of love to Kiyoomi for him to savor.

Of course, Kiyoomi can leave it to his boyfriend to shatter the tender silence. 

“Y’know Omi-kun, it’s great that no one’s gonna get sexiled now, but it’d be real awkward if we broke up while we’re roommates again next year.”

Kiyoomi grips Atsumu’s hand tighter than necessary for his next pulse. “You’re the one who told me you wouldn’t break up with me. Prove it.”

Atsumu returns it with just as much force. “How could I ever let ya go now that I finally have ya?”

Oh. So Atsumu _is_ capable of being smooth. His attempts at flirting with Kiyoomi throughout the year have been so bad that Kiyoomi thought the only game Atsumu could play was volleyball. 

They started their official relationship off with an emotionally-charged strength contest disguised as hand holding. It’s utterly ridiculous. Kiyoomi loves it. Kiyoomi is completely and utterly in love with Atsumu. 

Kiyoomi is not a star but he thinks he might be one, because he is burning, burning, _burning_ with love. 

“We’ll be okay.”

And he truly believes it, knows with every fiber of his being that he’s correct.

“I look forward to another year with ya, Kiyoomi.”

Kiyoomi sees things through to the end. There’s a really good chance that there never will be an end. But regardless of whatever his relationship with Atsumu once was and now is, they’re nowhere close to the finish line. 

They’ve only just begun. 

...

Four days later, Atsumu returns from the mailroom with a baffled expression and a wicker basket in his arms. 

“Omi-kun, do ya know why Ushijima sent me a gift basket filled with cleanin’ supplies?”

Kiyoomi laughs so hard that he cries. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for almost two weeks, and this ship has filled my thoughts for too long, so I hope this turned out well. The characterization and imagery could have been more fleshed out, but this was a self-indulgent fic. I liked what I wrote and hope you did too. 
> 
> Catch me on Twitter as @myo_caron where I don't really do anything.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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